Trolling the Moderator
Descartes
Meanwhile, somewhere in a deserted part of Seoul. A room decked out in European-style architecture and design. A long conference table and chairs like you'd see in a boardroom, flanked by a few classic single-seaters. The air hung heavy, thick with a solemn atmosphere.
And then, from the sofa closest to the central table, a voice shattered that solemnity in an instant.
"Ha... fucking Gabriel, why the hell does this bastard summon me outta nowhere."
The low, gravelly voice filled the room with profanity. At its center sat a woman in a multicolored suit, legs crossed on the sofa. Her name was Makina. Descartes' underboss and an elf.
She scowled like it was all a huge hassle, waiting for someone to show up.
"Seriously, it's a pain to check on my phone. When the fuck is he—!"
The phone screen's glow lit up her platinum blonde hair and green eyes in the curtained, dim room. And on that screen, glaring back in stark contrast to the mood, was a window that didn't belong.
[Hunter Gallery]
"Phew— at least the trolls haven't shown up yet."
A gallery she'd stumbled upon during a mission. Turns out the guy she'd assassinated happened to be a jutak here. Intrigued by the info-sharing between awakeners and non-awakeners, Makina had taken over the role and been modding ever since.
That was seven years ago now. She'd fully adapted to the jutak position.
She sighed deeply, scrolling through posts. The usual stuff—no trolls, no nukes. Peaceful as ever. Her appointed pataks were doing solid work, and she hadn't slacked on moderation either.
Passing time in the gallery while waiting for Gabriel, a familiar IP caught her eye with a new post.
Nemone mo □□□□□
"What time is it? Who the hell sleeps now?"
The floating IP from the square-headed troll who'd been dodging her blocks, deletions, and comment nukes to provoke her nonstop. What bullshit was he posting to scratch her itch this time?
Makina clicked it, eyes burning with deep irritation.
"Ah... fucking should've stayed out."
She smacked her forehead, regretting the click. That photo hit harder than expected. What the hell to do with this pretty-boy floater? No blocks, no deletes—pure madness.
Worse, location tracking bounced right off. Must be some big shot or have anti-trace powers.
Makina sighed and dropped a comment.
"Ugh— if I met this fucker IRL I'd just deck him."
As expected, the replies mocked her. No stopping it. Best to look away.
Makina closed the gallery, stared at the door, waiting for Gabriel.
And soon enough.
Creeeak—
A blonde, blue-eyed elf man pushed the door open.
"You summon me and show up this late?"
"...Sorry, got held up talking with Han."
Makina scowled at Gabriel's words.
"What the fuck you talking about with that Han Myeonghoe bastard."
"...Watch your mouth. He's our sponsor for now."
"Shut it. If the boss knows you're just clinging to the Han clan, the old godfather'd be thrilled from the grave."
Her voice dripped fury as she chewed him out, pulling something from her pocket.
"No smoking indoors."
"Fuck off. Seeing you stresses me out so much I need a cig, asshole."
Click— whoosh—
Makina lit up right there. Deep drag in, slow exhale. Her eyes held a mix of nostalgia, frustration with the situation, and rage at Gabriel.
"Suuup— haa..."
"I told you, that Han Myeonghoe fucker's gonna stab us in the back someday."
"...Drop it."
"Drop what? You know what those guys are up to lately?"
"......"
Gabriel stayed silent. Makina sucked in another deep drag, annoyed at his denseness.
Han Myeonghoe. Patriarch of the Han clan, Korea's most powerful of the three great families. But Makina couldn't stand him.
"What's the point of all that money and power? His eyes, his actions—swallowed by ambition and greed."
Everything about him, from deeds to personality, was her exact type of hated scum.
She stubbed out the near-finished cig and continued.
"He'd kill his own family if he had to......"
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Right then. Her words cut off as knocking echoed.
"Come in."
Makina granted permission before Gabriel could. But he didn't snap—just kept his fake smile.
Creeeak—
In walked an elf woman with light brown hair, slit eyes, and a tear mole. The consigliere, Bianca.
"What is it?"
Makina asked her business. Bianca gave Gabriel a light nod, dropped her smile, and spoke.
"Smells like cigs in here. Makina."
"......"
Bianca's slit eyes narrowed. Makina averted her gaze—like a mouse before a cat.
"Sigh... I told you it's bad for your health."
"Ah, no, Bianca. I'm underboss now? Not in a position to get nagged..."
"Makina."
One word shut down her flustered protest. Bianca approached slowly.
"Mom said cigs are bad for you, smoke in moderation."
Her worried words came with a hug.
"I... I don't smoke that much..."
"A pack a day minimum, plus cigars? Talk about moderation."
"......"
Bianca silenced her excuses, then whispered in her ear.
"Found the location from that photo you showed me."
"R-really?!"
Makina's excited yelp got muffled by Bianca's hand.
"Yeah. Investigation hit a wall midway, but I got a lead beforehand. Head there."
Makina nodded at the whisper. Gabriel watched, confused.
"I'm going with Mom first."
That was all—no return plans.
"Wait, meeting's not over."
"Later. You were late anyway. And if you're just gonna bring up Han Myeonghoe, don't call me next time."
Gabriel shut up. She wasn't wrong. He'd called her to convince her about Han.
"Then, we're out."
Creeeak— thud.
Bianca and Makina left those words behind. The room stayed with thick cig smoke and solemn quiet.
Gabriel leaned back, chin on hand. His fake smile faded, eyes losing their spark.
"Fucking bitches, treating me like dirt."
The real Gabriel, mask off.
He closed his eyes briefly.
'Can't see ahead for shit, Rich. Tsk tsk— that's why you can only sit in the boss chair?'
'Hey, idiot. Wrong posture. What, here to fence?'
"Just like that damn old fart."
The voices replayed in his head, making him sick. Vito, the godfather he'd killed for the seat. And his adopted daughter Makina, who resembled him most—Gabriel hated her guts.
Now Descartes' real power was hers, not his. He wanted to off her right there.
But she was stronger. A top-tier A-rank pushing S-grade. He was barely entry A-rank, alchemist not fighter.
Gabriel poured whiskey from the side table, lost in thought.
Then.
Bzzz— bzzz— bzzz—
His phone buzzed. Screen: Han Myeonghoe. Descartes' sponsor—or rather, his personal backer.
"Heh... Makina, whatever you're scheming, you'll be crawling and begging soon."
His sleazy smile returned as he answered.
The call connected. As Gabriel chatted, his pale blue eyes flickered with purple. Behind the closed door, a shadow vanished silently.
"Armband cut—!"
Blasting the gallery, comments pouring in, mods reacting. The thrill of everyone reacting to my IP and disgust pic. Unforgettable sweet rush. Addictive.
Maybe already hooked.
"Phew... Pain-sharing plan done. Time for the main event—rewards?"
Closed the gallery, back to reality. Ignored all system shit, time to check.
Most anticipated moment.
"Alright—rewards. Show me the rewards!"
I pulled up the dismissed system window.
What goodies awaited? The excitement hit like confessing to my first crush.
And the grand first reward was...
[Quest Complete.]
[You are now an Elf Understander.]
[Some Elves' favorability has increased.]
"...Fucking stepped in shit."
Shit. The worst kind of elf shit.